


A journey I'll never make again

by mangacrack



Series: Trails [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Tuor, First Age, Gondolin, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Past Abuse, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 17:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13815885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangacrack/pseuds/mangacrack
Summary: "His name was Lorgan," Tuor confesses one day. Maeglin is currently bend over a new sword he's making for Ecthelion, too busy to even look up as his lover begins his tale. "He knew who I was. Who my father was and he singled me out, straight from the beginning, afraid that I'd use my name to create unrest."





	A journey I'll never make again

**Author's Note:**

> Since I wrote the Maeglin/Tuor Fic for Narya, who included a certain rating in her prompt, I choose to outsource the nsfw part. Especially since it's a bit heavy stuff, thanks to Tuor's history as a slave. But I just couldn't not write it. So, this is the second part of Done with Winter. Which I recommend you to read first. Special thanks go to Encairion as well, since there was once a scene in "The Price of Vengeance I", where Tuor humilitates Maeglin and we talked how and why they didn't end up helping each other as past abuse victims. The urge to FIX THIS always stuck with me, ... so here I am. 
> 
> ~ * ~ 
> 
> **Warnings:** reference to past rape/non-con, past sexual abuse  & violence, rape recovery, internalized homophobia, angst, hurt/comfort and other kinks (as in Handjobs, Oral Sex, Rimming, Fingering, Crying, bottom Tuor, Anal Sex)

Fall turned to winter and Tuor's breathing is ragged as he watches the snowflakes dance outside the window. They look beautiful. Eternal and mortal at the same time.

The thought is odd and gone in the next moment as he's able to focus again. Maeglin works his hard shaft with a flick of his wrists and makes Tuor moan. The man grasps the sheets, desperate to hold onto something, because what Maeglin is doing to him is something he has never experienced before. It's slow and intense. His lover moving his thumb over the head of his cock, slowly spreading the wetness is enough to make him whimper.

Tuor arches his neck and the Elven Prince bends down to gently kiss the throbbing vein.

"L-Lómion." Tuor gasps. He would beg if he would know what he should beg for.

For Maeglin to go faster? To slow down? He truly doesn't know and yet is ready to crawl out of his skin. Unfair, given that they're still mostly dressed. Lying on a bed, having shared kisses until Tuor was on the verge of exploding. He moaned eagerly as fingers opened his trousers, pushing them down enough to free his aching member.

"It's alright, you're doing great," Maeglin says, praising him and goes makes to moving at a leisure place.

He's careful. So bloody careful and watching Tuor's reaction for any sign of uncomfortableness. While the Atan has been living in Gondolin, Tuor has only recently opened up about his time as a thrall, where Orcs and Slavers caught his people and forced them into a horrible life. Tuor jokes from time to time that at least they weren't prisoner of Angband. They didn't have to face Morgoth, but that doesn't make his nightmares go away.

Maeglin wants to tell Tuor that it you shouldn't be grateful that you were raped by a member of your own race and not by a disfigured monster, but he holds back that thought. His lover isn't ready to hear that yet.

Instead Maeglin goes back to pleasuring Tuor, draws out the release as much as he can, because he wants Tuor get used the feeling. Sex is supposed to feel good and it grieves him that such a fine and honest man flinches every time the mineworkers make a dirty joke.

He's gotten better. Tuor no longer looks like as he rather wants to sleep under a tree than in a comfortable bed, though Maeglin knows that difficult nights when he finds no rest at all, the man retreats into the garden. With a heavy blanket, if he has to and Maeglin doesn't deny Tuor this.

Voronwë comes by frequently and generally tries to distract Tuor, whenever something heavy weights on his mind and Maeglin is caught up in his duties.

"Maeglin," Tuor moans again and buries his hands in the long black hair. "Maeglin, I ... I can't..."

The Noldor bends down to suck a mark at Tuor's neck. He murmurs, "Just let go. You can let go. You're doing so well."

It's the praise that sends him over the edge and Maeglin watches Tuor trembles and pant in his arms. Holds him tight until they're curled up under the sheets with Tuor fast asleep and Maeglin determined to chase the bad dreams away.

 

-

 

"His name was Lorgan," Tuor confesses one day. Maeglin is currently bend over a new sword he's making for Ecthelion, too busy to even look up as his lover begins his tale. "He knew who I was. Who my father was and he singled me out, straight from the beginning, afraid that I'd use my name to create unrest."

Sparks fly through the air and Maeglin is careful not to look at Tuor. He has gathered scraps here and there, enough to get the picture. The man's body language tells the entire story as well and Maeglin hopes none of the other Lords have noticed. The way Tuor smiles bravely when Ecthelion and Glorfindel take him in their midst, the way Tuor swallows sometimes when Rog towers above him. If they have, Maeglin's fellow Lords show no sign of recognition that something is wrong, yet they seem to know whenever Tuor wants to get away from the sarcastic and cutting remarks of the Ladies.

 _Idril has grown jealous of late,_ Maeglin thinks and brings down his hammer. _Frustration probably._

For his uncle has been mentioning his desire for a grandchild more and more often. Only as a joke, of course. So far, yet Maeglin can see the longing in his uncle's eyes whenever he's holding Ecthelion's youngest child in his arms.

"You're a man with a noble heart. It makes sense to put you under pressure from the beginning," Maeglin finally answers, not sure if Tuor wants him to comment on it or not. A little uneasy he adds, "My father had thralls in Nan Elmoth. It's Thingol's preferred punishment, aside from exile and while it's non easy for the afflicted, the state is always temporary and my father's servants still had rights."

What he doesn't say that Turgon practices that kind of punishment as well, though he phrases it more politely. Transgressions against his law usually comes in form of taxes or hard labour in the mines. Which is almost kind compared the gossip and the ostracism that follows, possibly staining a families reputation for centuries. There's a reason, why Penlod is head of _two_ houses after a distant cousin's father left Gondolin and the remaining members of the family had been severely punished.

On top of the news that said Elf had been found dead in the mountains.

Tuor interrupts Maeglin's trail of thought.

"Well, I'm afraid to ask, but some Lords among the Atani practice something that they call _Lord's right._ " Tuor laughs, hollow and bitter while scratching his beard. He shaves regularly, but on some days he deems it too much work to get rid of the stubble.

Maeglin isn't sure if Tuor knows how truly distracting said stubble is.

On his raised eyebrow Tuor clarifies.

"Lord's right means that people in position of power can _request_ a maiden to spend a night in their bed. Some do it directly before said maiden marries, other's are subtle by offering the young and beautiful work in their household."

Wrath raises in Maeglin's soul. His eyes narrow and his breathing quickens.

He has found some of the remarks his miners get degrading already, but he's the conviction that none of the Eldar would sink so low. Though there's been cases, where parents have pressured their child to accept certain courtships no matter if the boy or girl in question has warmed up to the idea.

"That's a dirty practice," Maeglin finally spats and vents his anger by hitting the metal as hard as he can. Probably ruining the process, but that's secondary right now. "I know what happens to those, who land in the hands of Orcs and survive. My father Eöl suffered that fate hundreds of years ago, but there should be a difference between Orcs being capable of such vileness or if a single man lowers himself to such atrocities."

Not able to think straight Maeglin puts down his tools, walks over to Tuor and kisses him. Hard, rough and all consuming, leaving the man gasping for breath as his Prince pulls away again.

"It's wrong to do this to another person. To anyone. None of the other prisoners deserved that fate and neither did you," Maeglin insists. "No matter what reasons this Lorgan may have presented to you."

Tuor sighs and lets his head rest against Maeglin's shoulders.

"Today I know that he manipulated me. I was nothing but a boy and Lorgan had no qualms to use my desire to protect the rest of the slaves to keep me compliant," he says and is glad that Maeglin stays close. It helps at lot to have the Elf touching, grounding him. Or else he'd slip back into his memories, where he has guards looming over him, eager to find an excuse to further punishment.

He's not quite sure if he got to the most, but Tuor has been put under the whip very often back then. By now most of the scars have faded, yet on cold and miserable days he can still feel them.

"What's the worst Lorgan ever did to you?" Maeglin asks carefully and runs his fingers through his lover's hair.

The fear and his heart beating wildly is something Tuor expects. His stay in Gondolin has made is easier to deal with the memories. What he's helpless against it the desire that pools in his gut as well and he hates himself how his body betrays him.

"He made me kneel before him." Tuor sobs and answers only, because he can hide his face in Maeglin's chest. Until this day he has never spoken to anyone of his shame, but there's something in the Elven Prince that assures Tuor that he can trust him with his secret. "I knelt naked at his feet, he did things to me and I liked it."

Tuor cries until his shoulders are shaking. Ecthelion's sword and Maeglin's shirt end up bring ruined. Yet as the two lovers cling to each other neither of them regrets it. A weight falls of Tuor that day, because Maeglin listens patiently to all of the dirty shameful secrets the man kept close to his heart and that's far more worth than replacing a few minor materials.

 

-

 

"Are you sure about this?" Maeglin asks. His eyes are filled with worry, but he's ready to fulfil any of Tuor's wishes.

His lover nods, breathing steady despite his obvious nervousness. They're currently in one of Maeglin's chambers. It's in the middle of the day, sun-rays are falling through the curtains and though he can people chattering in the distance through the open window, Tuor knows from experience that they're going to remain undisturbed.

"Please," he says. "I don't to embarrass myself during the ceremony."

"I understand," Maeglin answers and runs his fingers through Tuor's hair.

Said ceremony was going to be thrown in Tuor's honour for becoming a member of Maeglin's house. It was more of a formality and reason to throw another feast, but one part required Tuor getting on his knees. He'd not swear an oath of fealty, for Turgon considered it unfair to demand such a thing from a man, but he'd still promise to keep Gondolin's location a secret, follow the laws and obey Lord Maeglin's orders in a case of emergency. Nothing, what Tuor wouldn't do anyway, but the thought of kneeling of front of the King and all the Lords being witness, threw him into a panic.

So far all the kneeling he had done in the past were accompanied with Lorgan demanded his services.

"Do you feel comfortable?" Maeglin asks as Tuor slowly lowers himself to the floor. "I can ask my uncle for a test-run without anyone else present, if you desire it. He'd understand."

"I know," Tuor groans, but not out of pain. He can already feel his shaft hardening in his trousers, just from the sight of Maeglin looming above him.

He struggles with the reaction of his own body, but at least right now he can chalk it up to the previous encounters he shared with the Prince. More than once Maeglin has pressed him against a wall to kiss him or pulled him on the bed to grind their laps together. All casual and so natural that it breaks Tuor's heart sometimes.

Yet he reached a point, where _just_ touching wasn't enough anymore. Tuor catches himself staring, imaging sinful things and fantasies that should remain behind locked doors. He _wants_ to have sex with Maeglin despite his experiences with it in the past. Tuor has also come to the realization that he doesn't want Lorgan to have such power over him anymore.

If there's anyone, who he would kneel for than it's Maeglin. The Elven Prince, who handles power and authority as if he was born with it. Shares casual conversations with a disgruntled Penlod, professional and heated debates with Rog and doesn't mind to lose against Glorfindel, when they spare in the yard and yet manages to be the voice of reason whenever Turgon gets stuck in his views.

Tuor fights against his own desire. Want wars against the shame that makes his face flush red.

"I see that you had more than one reason for your request," Maeglin says in a low voice.

He's so close that Tuor can bury his nose in his thigh. It smells of earth, smoke and leather. A far more natural scent that he remembers Lorgan wearing. That man rarely washed, was drunk most often when he requested Lorgan's presence and hardly owned more than one set of clothing.

Tuor always felt disgust, when he was with him. Kneeling in front of Maeglin, though, woke completely different feelings.

"Maybe I want to replace a few memories." Tuor groans as the fingers in his hair force his head back and are just on the right side of painful.

Maeglin bends down, hovers just above Tuor's face. Close enough to feel his breath yet too far to kiss him.

"So you wish for me to banish Lorgan from your mind?" Maeglin whispers. His voice is dark, seductive and full of promise.

Tuor groans again and is very glad that he found the courage to talk about his fears and his desires with Maeglin. It hadn't been easy, telling the Elven Prince how exactly Lorgan had used him and what gestures triggered his memories. But _Stars_ , being able to stare at Maeglin's crotch with undisclosed desire is worth a few uncomfortable conversations alone.

Not to mention what it does to him that this kind of play doesn't leave Maeglin unaffected either.

"Please," Tuor pleads and stretches his neck, wanted to be kissed. It shouldn't put him on the edge like this, not when he hasn't even shed a single peace of clothing.

Maeglin obliges, smirking a little as he fulfils Tuor's wish. Kissing him thoroughly and it seems that he's putting his longevity to good use. Tuor just _melts_ and forgets the next hour entirely.

When he comes to himself, he's kneeling in front of the sofa, head resting on Maeglin's lap who just freed him from the silk scarf that bound is hands together. It was more for show, Tuor could've easily slipped out of the restraints, but it served it's purpose.

He feels sated and satisfied, content in way he hasn't for a very long time.

Tuor runs his hands up and down Maeglin's legs, looking up and finds the Elven Prince still panting. His chest is moving up and down quickly while his lover bites down on his lip to get his own arousal under control. Until recently Tuor would've been glad for it, unsure what he's supposed to do with Maeglin's needs and half afraid he's going to disappoint him.

Yet today Maeglin's desire spurns him on.

"Should I help you with that?" Tuor asks and feels giddy as Maeglin whines, when he palms his erection through the denim. "I do have talents that I can put to good use."

"You ... you don't have to." Maeglin pants.

Still, he's staring and Tuor licks his lips. Slowly as he reaches for Maeglin's pants and pulls them down. Just enough to free the throbbing shaft and the tip is wet enough that Tuor's mouth waters for a taste. Before the sight can intimidate him, Tuor leans forward. Gives the head a few licks and pumps the shaft with his right hand before he closes his lips around it.

Maeglin's high pitched whine is reward enough. Out of the corner of his eyes he sees how the Elf buries his fingers in the backrest of the sofa, obviously remembering the mixed reactions about hair pulling. Tuor moans, sucking hungrily and eagerly takes the pulsating shaft deeper.

It doesn't take much, just a few time of Tuor bobbing his head up and down, before Maeglin's hips jerk twice and the taste of salt and hard water spreads over his tongue.

"You're amazing," Maeglin pants and Tuor gives a satisfied grin.

Shattering Maeglin's self-control is certainly worth dealing with aching knees. But even that fades from memory as he's pulled onto the couch and Tuor ends up laying on top of Maeglin, kept save and warm.

 

  
-

 

The final step takes more effort. Much to Tuor's great frustration. One reason is that he acquires somehow a rather busy schedule. With his official introduction into the society, two years after his arrival many writers and artist somehow demand his attention. Most often they wish for him to describe his journey, desperate for new material and inspiration. Since Maeglin is busy forging swords and armours anyway, claiming to have found a new formula despite the older ones being perfectly fine since they don't get used that much, Tuor doesn't mind retelling some events of his life over and over again.

He even finds a relative of Annael, who is overjoyed to receive the news and spreads the word among the Sindar living in Gondolin. Hence why Tuor is often seen sitting with them, feeling at ease with the Grey-Elves of Gondolin far more than the Noldor. It's not their fault, it just helps Tuor to reconnect with the boy he was during his childhood before Lorgan took everything away from him.

His slaver is also the reason why sex with Maeglin out of question for a while. They've moved in together. Tuor has still his own chambers, but more often than not he sleeps in Maeglin's bed even if their schedules don't always align.

The Elves of Gondolin are still mostly night active. If their work permits it, they rise around midday and stay up deep into the night. Often Maeglin comes to bed just an hour before Tuor is ready to get up, because experiments have shown that his body punishes him heavily if he keeps switching up night and day for too long.

Yet that's no the only reason.

 

_"No, no, no. Please, I'm sorry." Tuor is whimpering, curled up into himself and trying to hide his tears._

_He's a wreck, sobbing and whatever good mood existed between them is gone._

_Tuor doesn't even register the words Maeglin is uttering. The Elf makes soothing noises, yet doesn't quite know if Tuor wants to be held or not touched at all. In the end he picks up their clothing, figuring that getting dressed again will provide his lover with a layer of protection._

_Yet for Tuor it only feels like a failure._

 

 

 

"Can you tell me what set you off?" Maeglin dares ask a few weeks later, when things between them have normalized again.

It had taken a while to convince Tuor that the reaction wasn't his fault. That Maeglin wasn't mad. Not at the ruined evening or that Tuor shut him out in the following days. If he had the courage to ask, Tuor would like to know how a temperamental personality like the Noldor Prince ended up being so patient with him. Is just Maeglin or did the Eldar showed more understanding towards suffering in general?

Sensing that he'll not be getting an answer he doesn't provide some of his own, Maeglin says, "My mother was known for mood swings. Her marriage with my father wasn't an easy one, which neither can be truly blamed for despite the end it found."

Since Maeglin doesn't talk about his parents often, Tuor waits. Also glad he still has some time to think.

"Neither of my parents were particular happy people and they liked hurting each other, because this is what they needed. In the end they just pulled me and the rest of Gondolin into it." Maeglin shrugs and Tuor almost believes he has come to terms with it. "If you ask me, they were bound to end up killing each other."

Tuor shuffles closer, wishing to provide comfort since this is certainly not a topic Maeglin is able to discuss very often.

"Did you father..." He doesn't finish the sentence.

"No, I don't think so." The Elf understands anyway, shaking his head and his long black hair falls over his shoulders, like it always does when they're in private. "I caught them being rough with each other more than once, but if you want my honest opinion that mother seduced my father and he didn't know what to do with it."

Which ... could Tuor actually understand, if he remembers the tales about Maeglin's father correctly. He has been told about the ancient scars that Eöl covered with tattoos, but they still told a dark and ugly history.

And if society among Elves just remotely like the way Men handle such topics than the possibility of a man being _raped_ is not discussed at all. Not beforehand in warnings or afterwards, when it's too late and the victim has to live with the memories anyway.

"So?" Maeglin pokes him into the side. "What do I've to do next time in order to avoid causing you distress?"

Perhaps it's the words _next time_ that convince Tuor to speak up. But time and distance to the event helps as well. It's laughable in retrospect, yet in the very moment the feeling overwhelmed him.

"I felt that I had too much control," Tuor confesses. "If that makes any sense."

He gets a kiss on the check as reward and the touch is enough to wake familiar desires. Tuor wants to keep kissing Maeglin. He wants to shudder and moan and press his body against the hot and unbending flesh before him.

But he doesn't want to be in control. It feels awkward.

No matter that he expected to find it more agreeable not to be in the position Lorgan always forced him into.

"Well, I can imagine that you could prefer the pain you're already familiar with," Maeglin muses and the firm grip on his neck lets Tuor relax. It's strange, but it helps. Maybe, because he knows that he has nothing to fear from the Elf.

Tuor shudders, when Maeglin pulls him closer. Insistent, yet no strong enough that he couldn't free himself. A gentle bite into his neck makes moan and arch into the searching hands that squeeze his ass.

"Do you want to try it out?" The tone of the voice is teasing, just like the fingers that are slowly driving him mad.

Suddenly Tuor can't remember why he was against this. Perhaps it's because Maeglin is in charge and he's not a boy anymore. It's been almost seven years. Ten, if he counts from the day of the ambush.

Lorgan is far away and Tuor feels a thirst that needs to be taken care off.

"Yes," he groans and drags Maeglin towards the bedroom. "Yes, I need you so desperately."

He lets himself be kissed with fervour, right up against the door frame by an Elf that is a good head taller than him. Who could easily lift him up and fuck him against the wall, but Tuor isn't quite ready for that yet.

Instead he moans, fumbles to get the clothes off him and ruts against Maeglin as he's pressed into the soft sheets of the bed.

"I want your fingers," Tuor gasps as Maeglin's hands explore his skin. Lips kiss every inch and suck marks on places, where they're difficult to hide. Tuor reaches up and digs his fingernails into the naked broad shoulders. "Please, Lómion, I want your fingers inside me."

For there _had_ been nights that felt good. Even with Lorgan, who delighted in forcing moans of pleasure out of Tuor's unwilling mouth instead of cries of pain. Of course, that had existed too, in equal measure.

Yet the memory pales as Maeglin grabs the oil, gets his fingers wet and sinks one deep into Tuor. The man gasps, because the preparation is slow and careful. Soon he's sobbing into the pillow, plaint and eager while Maeglin stretches him. Goes back to use more oil until he can easily fit three fingers into the hot waiting passage.

"M-maeglin. P-please," Tuor moans. Sweats presses his hair against his forehead and he's almost tearing the pillow apart.

He hadn't though it could truly feel this good. He's this close to finding release just from having Maeglin's fingers inside him. They're rubbing. searching and teasing him until he almost can't take it anymore.

"You're doing so well," Maeglin murmurs praise into his ear as he lines up behind him, buries the oily fingers in Tuor's sweat soaked hair and pulls slightly. Just in the manner that Tuor has come to love so much. "Don't worry, I'm going to take care of you."

Then he's pressing inside and Tuor loses all sense or reason. In his imagination Maeglin feels bigger than Lorgan did, but perhaps it's just the sheer intensity. A hand steadies his hip, runs over his trembling thighs all while a hot mouth keeps breathing against his neck. The weight is a comfortable one and not scary at all as Maeglin lays on top of him.

When Maeglin is fully seated and the head of his cock is just pressing against a sweet bundle of nerves that Tuor didn't know it existed before the elf discovered it with his clever fingers, he's asked, "Does it feel good?"

Tuor groans, unable to answer, because the slightest movement sparks pleasure. Widens his entrance even more until his flesh is stretching around Maeglin's hard shaft.

But it's not enough.

"Yes," Tuor moans and wretches his head to the side. His lips are claimed and he moans again, for the minute thrusts are driving him insane. "Yes, it does feel good."

It seems it's what Maeglin needed to hear, because the next thrust pushes Tuor deep into the mattress and he's rocking back, trying to find some friction. Yet Maeglin moves maddeningly slow. Hard and firm, lightening Tuor up from the inside and the pleasure is so intense he's glad that Maeglin can't see his face right now.

His quiet begging has to be enough for now.

"Please, please ... ahh, please," Tuor keens as he craves a harder place.

Maeglin laughs quietly, panting into Tuor's neck and resolves his grip on his lover's ass before he finally, _finally_ gives in. The cries echoes through the room and for Tuor it almost gets too much, but thankfully Maeglin is there for all of it.

He's there, when he wraps his hand around Tuor's neglected shaft. He's there, when he comes wordlessly, shaking and trembling beneath him, just as he's remains where he was after finding his own release.

Tuor mumbles a quiet ' _Don't go, not yet_ ' after they're done and Maeglin remains inside his lover, only shifting them around that they're lying on their side, back pressed to chest.

"Is this alright?" Maeglin whispers when Tuor hisses slightly as he searches for a more comfortable position.

Tuor turns around to kiss his lover, happy. Spend and yet not fully sated. "I want to do it again. Just give me a while, then you can fuck me again."

"If you want," Maeglin purrs. His smile tells a lot about how happy Tuor's verdict makes him.

"I've missed out a lot," is Tuor's response. He reaches back to press their hips together.

What he doesn't say it, that he only feels comfortable with doing this again, because it's Maeglin. He probably can never to this with anyone else, but that's fine. It's enough.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of wrote a lot about the recovery, but I felt it was necessary to explain who Tuor is and how it might've shaped him, had he bonded with Idril instead. I don't wish to paint Idril as swallow, but I believe that Tuor would've treated her different than Maeglin. Would've been the typical straight guy returning from war, who tries to be the perfect husband to the his perfect wife. He also might have succeeded, but I can't see Tuor and Idril sharing that pain. Though we don't know much about these three years as slave, but the personal interest Lorgan took in the son of Huor I just couldn't ignore. 
> 
> Given how young Tuor was and that he spend years alone in the wild (AWAY from people I might add) rape seems to have been a likely option. 
> 
> *whispers there still might be more* ... but it will take a while, depending if I write a entire mulit-chaptered fic or if I post little bits into the series.


End file.
